Fifth of Blood

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  Rysa’s warm and perfect back pressed against his front. No extra calling scents rise off her body. Her hair tickled his nose and his body cupped hers, one of his arms under the pillow they shared and the other along his side. He held his palm flat on her hip and his fingers splayed over her soft skin.

  She sleeps on the edge of their bed, between him and the bulk of dragon next to the mattress, with her hand curled against the beast’s side.

  “Hmmm.” She rolled over, more asleep than awake.

  Dragon’s head rose as a small, clawing noise floats up from downstairs. The gentle night shimmer of his hide vanishes.

  “Did you hear that?” Ladon asked. Everything stood out—the outlines of the shadows. The pitch of the house’s pings. The quiet from outside. Something is wrong.

  The vision flickered. The same time slaps him hard. The same point in the what-will-be but a very different possibility:

  Ladon drove, Dragon in the back, alone. Very much alone. No one would find them this time, no matter how hard they searched. Cold blanketed both their souls. Ladon would let cold blanket his world.

  The new vision cut off as fast as it had started.

  Ladon gasped.

  “I’m sorry!” Rysa whipped her arms around. “Why is it so random?” She bent forward, grasping her gut, like she was about to throw up. “It hasn’t been so random! Oh my God!”

  The what-will-be appeared in Ladon’s mind. Rysa behind a glass wall, a cloudy mist swirling around her arms and legs. She presses her cheek, her fingers, her entire body against the glass. And all Ladon sees is the terror in her eyes.

  Then the what-is—“Ladon!” Rysa dropped to her knees on the pavement, and screamed his name. Screamed it as if she watched him die.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “We need you right now!” Derek cut the call to his wife and threw the phone into the sedan. Rysa’s seers whipped around the dim parking lot, a tangle of power so strong they blinked in and out of Derek’s vision.

  So strong he thought even a normal would feel them.

  They had been pulsating while they drove, randomly flickering above their constant white noise and spitting bursts. She had been quiet, but she’d controlled them. Mostly.

  Whatever Rysa had just done—whatever she’d tried to call up for Ladon—must have pulled the final switch. Maybe syncing with him did it. Maybe his unease flooded back to her. Or maybe whatever Vivicus had done to her Shifter half had finally, completely infected her seers.

  Ladon panted thirty-five feet away. Rysa’s calling scents strobed between ‘frantic’ and ‘panic.’ Her seers punched outward with the ‘frantic’ and contracted with the ‘panic,’ and Derek’s brain punched and contracted along with the yanking. If she did not stop her seers’ tearing, within seconds they would all be vomiting, Derek included.

  “Rysa!” Derek staggered toward her. Behind Ladon, Brother-Dragon’s hide pulsed in the same too-fast rhythm as Rysa’s oscillations, alternating between invisibility and a ghost outline. “Pull in your seers.” He picked her up off the asphalt and cradled her in his arms, as he would a daughter. “Brother-Dragon cannot hold his mimicking.”

  “Daddy?” Her eyes glazed.

  “No, no, it is me, Rysa. Derek. Your brother-in-law.” Her soon-to-be brother-in-law, and more family to her than the man who abandoned Rysa and her mother a decade ago.

  “This is what it’s like to see when you don’t have your talisman.” She blinked rapidly and her mouth hung open. “The insignias have been holding it in check, but they can’t anymore.”

  Across the lot, Ladon pulled himself up onto his knees. “Rysa!”

  Derek had seen terror on his wife’s face. It had flickered across her features in ‘84 when she realized the Seraphim had come for him. But it had not stayed. His wife grabbed it and smashed it in her fist the way she would have smashed a piece of paper into a tight ball.

  And then she did things she refused to talk about. And right now, he saw the same smashed terror surfacing in Ladon.

  “Rysa, move away.” Derek pushed her gently, not taking his eyes off his brother-in-law. “Now.”

  Ladon’s neck throbbed. Cold filtered off the man and washed across the lot. Behind him, Brother-Dragon’s hide stopped moving, stopped mimicking completely, and froze as a ghost of a just-passed moment.

  Derek could not comprehend what moved between the man and the beast, but he felt the ripping. Felt the memories welling up, and the immediate emotional and physical responses that had nothing to do with what-is and everything to do with what-was.

  Rysa grabbed Derek’s arm. “It’s a flashback. Oh my God Derek he’s having a flashback and I triggered it!”

  Derek pushed off the ground and sprinted for Ladon. How was he supposed to restrain a Dracae? Rysa may have enhanced his strength, but he was not Ladon.

  “Brother-Dragon!” Derek wrapped his arms around the growling ghost shadow behind Ladon. Heat danced along the edges of the beast’s mouth—he would vent soon. Derek needed to be careful. “Hold your mind together.”

  Ladon stood up. His boots scraped along the asphalt. His joints popped and snapped. And a deep, dragon vibration rolled from both the man and the beast.

  “Brother-Dragon.” Damn it, he needed to soothe. Needed to add calm, not more anxiety. And to pull their minds to the here and now. “Where are we?”

  Derek asks me a question. The beast sidestepped, taking Derek with him. He tried to lift his front limbs, but he staggered. Human, Derek asks questions. We must answer.

  Derek leaned close and rested his forehead against the ridge-crest on top of the dragon’s head. The beast’s ultra-fine coat wiggled against his skin, a wave of soft-but-agitated touch. “Do not try to sign.” He dropped his voice, whispering. “What I say is between us. You must concentrate so that I can tell you. Okay?”

  Brother-Dragon’s head moved in an affirmative nod.

  “I can hear you.”

  I…

  “Do not say it.”

  Yes.

  Ladon whipped around. “What?”

  Ladon had not heard—Derek could tell by the energy pulsing between him and Brother-Dragon—but the shock of the admission jolted both the man and the beast into the what-is.

  It worked.

  Next to the sedan, Rysa screeched. “Let go of me!”

  Nothing had hold of her. Nothing Derek could see.

  Brother-Dragon roared. Sister!

  Derek’s wife pressed her hand over Rysa’s mouth and nose. Pressed hard enough that Rysa’s eyes bulged.

  And then rolled backward into her head.

  Her seers popped like long, sinuous bubbles, the points where they touched the men bursting first. Their disintegration rippled away from Derek, Ladon, and Brother-Dragon, dissolving into the ether, until they collapsed onto Rysa.

  Every calling scent flooding the lot vanished—every calling scent causing ‘anxiety’ or ‘frantic’ pacing or the heart pounding of ‘love you.’ Every single scent reddening Ladon’s face with ‘anger’ or slouching his shoulders with ‘fatigue.’ Every hint of ‘fear’ and ‘hatred’ and ‘self-loathing.’ It all disappeared when Rysa slumped against Anna’s chest.

  His wife cupped Rysa carefully, laying her down on the ground and quickly checking her pulse. “She breathes. Her pulse is—”

  Ladon sprinted away from Derek, toward Rysa and Anna. “What did you do?”

  Brother-Dragon lifted Anna straight into the air. He roared again as he sent a massive column of flame high into the sky, belched by a phantom no one could see.

  “Put me down, Brother-Dragon!” Anna slapped his snout. “We need to leave! Get Rysa into your van before the police arrive.”

  Ladon bent over his love, checking her pulse and her breathing, ignoring his beast’s anger—or perhaps fueling it.

  The beast did not listen. Only constructs moved between the dragons; only emotions between the dragons and the humans. Brother-Dragon’s hide sparked. He looked to be a
cloud of dragon fireflies swarming in the lot of this quiet suburban office building.

  His front limbs moved to twist, to rip his Sister-Human in half.

  “Stop!” Derek ran the thirty-five feet faster than he had ever run in his life. Faster than he thought possible. And he barreled into Brother-Dragon’s haunch praying he had enough momentum to throw the beast’s balance.

  Anna dropped to the pavement. She landed in a crouch, ready to duck if Brother-Dragon grabbed for her again. “What else was I supposed to do? Shifters and Fates always lose cohesion when they pass out. I took a chance Rysa would as well!”

  A pebble whipped by, grazing her shoulder. She twisted, but it still snagged her jacket. A loud rip blended with the angry snorts of both dragons as the rock gouged the leather.

  “Brother!” Anna jumped to her brother. She flung herself into his arms, grabbing hold of his broad shoulders in a tight hug. “Damn it, Brother, it had to stop. It had to.”

  Ladon held perfectly still, kneeling next to Rysa with his sister holding tight to his front. Every one of his muscles rigid, every inch of his body ramrod straight, he did not look at his sister. He watched his dragon sniff Rysa’s face and chest.

  She breathes. Her pulse is strong. The beast gently lifted her off the pavement. Her calling scents are still present, but at the close range level she is supposed to have.

  The Fate lives. She will recover. Sister-Dragon circled behind Ladon and Anna. We could not allow you to fall into memories of Gaul.

  “Get. Off. Me.” Ladon did not move. “Now.”

  Anna let go. “If I knew of another way to make her sleep, I would have done it!” She stepped back, her hands out to her brother. “We are truly sorry. But you were…” She stopped and looked away.

  Nothing in Ladon’s posture gave away his intentions. No flick of his muscles or look in his eyes indicated if he would kill Anna, or simply walk away. Too taut to be deflated, too flat to be whole, the human half of the Dracos only watched his dragon carry his woman toward their van.

  “Brother, listen to me. Hadrian’s storefront is nothing more than Burner-caused debris.” Anna paced.

  Derek walked slowly toward his wife and her brother. He did not know how to handle this, but one thing was clear—he had to keep them separated.

  Anna reached for him. She breathed fast and shallow, her mouth scrunched into a thin line. She showed more conflict than Derek had seen in a long time. “We need to get them somewhere safe,” she told Derek. ”Somewhere secluded enough to protect all of them.”

  He nodded. But where? They had no contacts in Portland other than Hadrian. Who might be dead. Neither Anna nor Andreas had discovered if his storefront’s explosion had taken his life.

  “Without Hadrian, I cannot track the talon any farther. Without Rysa’s abilities functioning, we have no new leads.” Anna gripped his hand, then let go. “My Dragon and I could walk in the front door of Praesagio Industries. Ask them point blank.” She waved at her beast. “We discussed it. It may be our only—”

  Ladon pulled his van keys from his pocket as he pushed by her.

  “Where are you going?” Anna yelled. She stepped away from Derek, her body both rigid and loose. Her brother confounded her but Derek knew she never lost her fight-readiness.

  Ladon ignored her. Brother-Dragon slammed the back of the van and Ladon started the engine.

  They were leaving with Rysa. Running with the woman who, the moment she woke up, would have them both thrashing and vomiting.

  Anna must have had the same thought. She sprinted for the driver’s side of the van and jumped onto the running board.

  Sister-Dragon scrambled up the front to the van’s roof. Brother, we do not understand. She ran completely invisible, but by the creaks and groans of the vehicle Derek knew she had grasped the roof holds.

  The things pulsing between Ladon and Brother-Dragon wrapped around Derek’s neck and constricted like a snake. They called up his own memories of death, of helplessness. During the many decades Derek spent under the control of the Shifter Progenitor, that brute Andreas had blown scents into his nostrils to take off the edge of the etched-in memories of his family’s murder, but the memories still lingered.

  His sister Maria had understood the meaning of the shots fired in the other room of their prison in Siberia, perhaps better than Derek had himself. She would have made a true Tsarina, one as great as Catherine, but that had not been her role.

  He and his sister heard their mother screaming and their sisters falling to the floor. They huddled together, one child and one young woman, praying they could blend into the shack’s dirty walls.

  When they came for Derek, his sister stepped in front of him. His sister took the first bullets.

  Derek gasped. Rysa said flashback—and now what pumped between the man and his beast sucked flashbacks into Derek’s head.

  The energy flowing between his wife and her dragon flicked outward, mimicking what flowed between Ladon and his beast. Derek knew that a bad memory also surfaced for Anna and her dragon—that they too were in a flashback.

  Standing on the running board of her brother’s van, Anna shook. She did not yell; she whispered through the open window. She stayed grounded, in this moment, and did not fall victim to what crawled up from her personal hell.

  She could not. She had already caused enough anguish.

  The van’s engine idled, and the Dracae spoke at the window. And Derek did not know what to do.

  He heard one last sentence. “Get off my van,” Ladon said. Then the window rolled up and his wife stepped off. Her dragon came down from the roof.

  Ladon drove away.

  Anna gripped her elbows in much the same way Rysa reacted when she felt overwhelmed. Except Anna did not slump. “We will find a safe place for them to rest,” she said. “Then we will text Brother the address.” A hand lifted, then stopped in mid-air—she stroked her invisible Dragon’s side. “If he does not come through this before she wakes, we will need to fetch them.”

  When she glanced over her shoulder her eyes looked duller than usual. Cold. And her face blank.

  What memory did her brother’s flashback pull up in her mind? Derek ran his hand over the beast’s soft but invisible side and pulled his wife into his arms.

  She had been correct. This had to stop.

  Against his chest, Anna shifted to sudden piercing attention. Quickly, she stepped between him and the thin tree line separating the asphalt from an undeveloped lot next to the low-slung building. Her head snapped around and she tipped it toward the road, listening.

  Derek heard the sounds as well—at least three vehicles approached. But mostly he smelled the acidic tang riding in on the Portland mist.

  Derek scanned the tree line, knowing exactly what he would see.

  Burners. At least six.

  And they were down a Dracae.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rough crags edged the crevasse in Ladon’s soul. Foot- and handholds vanished into the shadows he’d fallen through so many times already in his life.

  When Rysa’s calling scents disappeared from his perception, he realized they’d been filling it completely these past few days. He saw only the keyhole overlay of desperation. Heard only his own too-fast heartbeat. But now he was alone again, standing on the precipice, wondering if this hole was deeper than his connection to the beast.

  And if they would both smash to bits on the bottom.

  He understood his hole’s bumps and its pits. Walking blind along its ledges, feeling his way forward, happened more often than he wanted to admit. Even on days with three bottles of vodka in his gut, he could still feel each and every cutting edge of each and every sharp rock.

  Rysa’s calling scents left, and he could have reacted by ripping muscle from bone and slashing with blades so sharp nothing stopped them, but he was tired.

  So Ladon drove.

  He found the vineyard twenty miles north of where they had met Sister. Where she had plac
ed her hand over Rysa’s mouth. Where she had suffocated his woman.

  Dragon flowed a steady stream of dragon-perceiving into Ladon’s mind: Phantoms of the beast’s locked digits as he touched her hair and chest. The extra brilliance of his vision as he watched for changes in the tone and temperature of her skin. Ghosts of the calling scents still clinging to her shirt and the new ones filtering from her still form.

  He used his connection to feed Ladon information, but to also compel away the memories yanked up before Rysa passed out. Ladon drove, and the beast forced his brain to watch the road, his hands to steer, and his body to perform its task.

  The flashes—the piercing invasions of muscle-shredding anger and the visual overlays of places long gone—had stopped, covered by the efforts of the friend Ladon could never be apart from, and never wanted to.

  She sleeps, the beast pushed. Her eyes move under her lids the way yours do when you dream.

  She wasn’t unconscious. She wouldn’t drop into a coma. Too much swirled in Ladon’s head but Rysa slept.

  The vineyard was tucked back from the road, but not so far that accessing the field with the van proved difficult. The rows and rows of vines followed the contours of a hill and stacked up the slope into the night. They vanished into darkness and mist, only to pop out in high relief when the clouds slid by and the moon bathed the area in shimmering ghost light.

  Here, people worked. Here, they cultivated the blood of civilization. But tonight, their work crawled with the phantoms of fog and night. It seemed as good a place to rest as any.

  Ladon parked the van and stepped out, leaving the lights on high to throw as much illumination onto the wood and wire gate as possible. He worked the latch and sprung the mechanism, feeling the cold touch of the metal, the cutting pressure of the wire, the creaking age of the wood. The gate, like him, had seen better days.